


A Handful of Sand

by deskclutter



Category: The Sandman
Genre: Gen, Siblings, Wings, unpleasable monarch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream already knows what he wants, and the supplicants at his court cannot give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handful of Sand

**Title:** A Handful of Sand  
**Day/Theme:** February 25 / a measure of beauty  
**Series:** Sandman  
**Character/Pairing:** Dream and Death  
**Rating:** G

Within a handful of sand lies countless possibilities: a dream of sweet childhood or a nightmare of the future; the energy that hums in the recoil of a gun; a dripping stalactite that plips and plops while names break under its sound; the honey-sweet melt of a rare food with hunger as its sauce, its succour filling the mouth with wild abandon.

Sand is time, the innumerable years that wears rock to pebble to grain to fine-sifting roughness upon the palm, and it is in time that one looks to find an instant that befits a handful of sand.

The King of Dreams sits upon his throne and receives those who would seek audience with him. He holds but one tool of office of the three he once had: the helm is currently locked away, for there will be no battles today but no demon holds it; the ruby gemstone has returned from destroyed dust into himself, and the madman known as John Dee does not weave his mad spells into it. The last was in the hands of a woman who lost reality in the bag of endless possibilities, and with it went her beauty, for time ravages beauty, and time constantly lurks, in a bagful of endless possibilities.

His supplicants arrive before his throne to display that which they hope will please him so as to sway him to their cause. They appeal with melodic voices, and display before him the cream of their finery. This Prince of Stories has seen many such faces and individual streaks of unique beauty through the years.

Lord Morpheus already knows, however, what especial possibility lies within his own handful of sand. It is not the sound of the most exquisite song, not the finery of faerie courtiers, nor is it the taste of the finest cuisine he is gifted with. It is not the lush fabrics sent to his treasuries, nor the rich scents of the most fragrant perfumes.  
Dream throws a handful of sand to the wind. He hears the rushing sound of wings.


End file.
